


Procrastination

by harleenquinzel



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleenquinzel/pseuds/harleenquinzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie Odair is thirty-seven weeks pregnant.</p><p>Annie Odair is thirty-seven weeks pregnant, and she and her husband have yet to put together a nursery for their son, who, mind you, is about to make his entry into the world any day now.</p><p>And it’s all Finnick’s fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Procrastination

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is an AU. Finnick isn't dead, and he and Annie get to live their lives happily, like they should have had the chance to. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Annie Odair is thirty-seven weeks pregnant.

Annie Odair is thirty-seven weeks pregnant, and she and her husband have yet to put together a nursery for their son, who, mind you, is about to make his entry into the world any day now.

And it’s all Finnick’s fault.

It’s not Finnick had meant to put off building a nursery for this long. No, he really didn’t. After the war, and the whole Katniss killing President Coin thing, plus the whole bit where Panem had to establish a new government, he simply had forgotten about it. It had slipped his minds. And after six months of utter chaos, Annie and Finnick finally returned back to District 4, and attempted to return to something that resembled normalcy.

Unfortunately for the Annie and her unborn son, normal for Finnick mean heavy procrastination.

Ever since the two of them had arrived back home, Finnick had been shoving unopened boxes of baby equipment and toys and diapers into the room the two of them had designated to be the nursery, and figured that the two of them would get around to it eventually. The so-called nursery looked like a hoarder’s paradise - they could barely step into the room without being overwhelmed. And for two months now, Annie has told Finnick the same thing every day. “Finnick, today we really need to get the nursery set up. The baby’s going to come any day now, and we need to be ready,” she always says. And every day, Finnick grabs her by her hips, looks into her familiar green eyes, and says, “But babe. We have so many other things that we can be doing. Like this…” And then he leaves a trail of kisses on her neck, distracting her, and preventing her from nagging him further. It always works, and he’s guaranteed another twenty-four hours without any nagging.

But today? Today is different.

Annie Odair is thirty-seven weeks pregnant, and she is _pissed_.

Finnick is minding his own business in the kitchen, reading District 4’s daily gazette, about to pop another sugar cube into his mouth, when his wife waddles into the kitchen, one hand on her hips, glaring at him. Finnick Odair may have won the Hunger Games, but nothing, absolutely nothing, is more terrifying than an angry pregnant woman.

“Finnick.”

Her voice is cold enough to freeze Hell over. Twice.

“Yes, dear?” Finnick asks, his voice a higher pitch than normal. _Don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact_ , he chants repeatedly in his head, trying to look anywhere but Annie’s face, knowing that it would only incite her rage further. In the midst of trying to find a good place to look, he accidentally looks into her green eyes, usually full with love and adoration, and gulps.

“Finnick. I am about to give birth to your child any freaking minute. And the nursery is still a mess. You need to fix that. Now,” Annie says, crossing her arms.

“But, babe,” Finnick starts, standing up. “We can do it another day, why don’t we jus-”

She interrupts him. “No,” she states flatly.

“But Annie, I-”

“Do _not_ ‘but Annie’ me, Finnick Odair. We have to finish the nursery, and we have to do it today. You’re not getting out of it again.”

Finnick sighs, realizing that no, he isn’t going to get out of it again, and meekly mumbles a _fine_ underneath his breath, following his wife upstairs to what’s supposed to be their son’s nursery.

***

Three and a half hours later, the two of them are sitting on the floor, attempting to build the crib.

“I swear, these instructions are written in another language,” Finnick says, lifting the instruction book up, and tilting it, as if that will suddenly make them any more clear.

Annie rolls her eyes, and snatches the papers from him. “It says to slide part thirty-four into the adjacent slot with part sixty-seven,” she says, pointing to two different parts laying on the floor in front of her.

“Why does a crib need sixty-seven parts in the first place? I mean really, you would think that three or four parts would be enough. Sixty-seven just seems ridiculous and overzealous,” Finnick rambled, ignoring the dirty looks that his wife was giving him.

“I don’t know how this is supposed to - oh.”

“Annie… Did you just break it?”

“....No.”

“You just broke it.”

“I did not!”

“You _so_ just broke it.”

“Shut up, Finnick! I didn’t break it! I just… uh, broke it.”

Finnick laughs as Annie holds up the two parts that she just broke, now nothing more than a bunch of splintered wood. His laughter soon sets Annie off, and the two of them have a giggle attack. Once they’ve wiped away their tears from laughing too hard, he pulls her into his lap, kissing the top of her head. “I told you sixty-seven parts was a bit excessive,” he says into her neck, and Annie lets out a very unladylike snort, and this sets them off again.

After another hour of kissing and laughing, the two of them come to an agreement: they’ll deal with the nursery another day. And with that, the two of them shut the door and go back downstairs to eat more sugarcubes than are probably safe for human consumption.

***

Two and a half weeks later, Annie gives birth to a beautiful baby boy with bronze curls and green eyes, and they come home to find a gift waiting for them on their front porch. It’s a handmade wooden crib, straight from District 7, from Johanna. The note on it says this:

__

_Dear Crazy,_

_I figured you’d need this. Knowing Fishboy, he probably hasn’t even attempted to put together the crib you guys bought. You better love me forever. And I better get a kickass gift for the winter solstice next year._

_Love ya,_  
 _Queen of the goddamn forrest._

“She knows us too well,” Finnick says with a sigh, running his hand along the smooth wood, admiring the craftsmanship.

“That she does,” Annie replies with a soft smile, planting a kiss on their newborn son’s head.

“So… What are we going to do about everything else that we have yet to put together?” 

“Let’s just deal with it tomorrow.”

“I knew I married you for a reason”

And with that, Finnick kisses Annie’s cheek, the two of them grinning like fools.


End file.
